Breaking Point
by Neko Kuroban
Summary: He promised her. She never told him.


**Author's Notes:** This is an idea for an epic I'm planning to write (someday), but it can stand alone. All you really need to know is that Quatre and Dorothy are twenty and living together, and Relena and Heero are secretly engaged. If you like this, please read _Staring Out At Sea,_ Heero and Relena's story.

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Breaking Point

**A _Gundam Wing _Fanfiction**

By Neko Kuroban

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**One: _I_**

I'm freezing, Quatre.

I am submerged beneath scorching water - no cold showers for this girl - but I feel as I have never known warmth in my life.

Not that you would care.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that. You probably would. You always do?

With numb, shaking limbs, I stand and rise from the bath. As I wrap a linen towel around myself, I can see myself - a little too pale, a little too thin - reflected in the mirror. I try to imagine you here: standing behind me and wrapping your arms around me from behind. You had a way of setting my skin on fire. I try to picture your lips grazing my shoulder, my neck, my breasts - but all I can imagine is turning in your arms to claim your lips with mine in a searing kiss and letting the towel around myself fall to the tile floor. I can see myself with my arms around your neck, my legs around your waist, my--

I'm blushing.

Me.

_Ice princess_, they say.

_Snob, _they call me.

_Bitch. _

_Untouchable. _

_Frigid. _

I used to wonder whether this was true. Were they right? Am I little lacking in sentiment? A little cold in love? Now, however, I think you might be the only one to know what is really me, Quatre, and what is only the mask.

I brush my hair a hundred strokes every night with the same Mason Pearson hairbrush my mother used when she was my age, a heavy wooden thing with boar bristles, engraved with her initials. Tonight, I forego ritual.

I set it aside and leave the bathroom, slowly making my way down the hallway. Before I can think better of it, I turn into your bedroom. I have not bothered to change or even to dry my hair, but I lay on your bed, wearing nothing but my towel.

It smells like you in here.

Not in a bad way – anything but. You have always smelled quite pleasant. Like…well…like a mixture of soap and old leather, the freshly manicured lawns at the old family estate, and the clean, refreshing rain you had described so well that one time.

You had been so surprised to find somewhere I hadn't been (you bought into my "done it all, seen it all" cynicism, I think - just a little) that you had promised that you would take me there as soon as you got back. It's been two weeks since you and Heero left. Four days since you had planned to return.

Relena's falling apart. I saw the pallor of her face after she called the hospital this morning, asking questions in her cool, diplomatic voice. No one else would have been able to detect the desperation as she was mired in beaurocracy and red tape. To the high-strung woman on the other end, nothing was amiss, but she didn't see the way Relena's lips stiffened or the fluttering, nervous gestures of her hands as she twisted her pearls.

Feh.

I'm getting soft.

Once upon a time, I would have been disgusted - and disillusioned! - when Relena burst into tears and ended the call. Once upon a time, I wouldn't have spun silvery lie after silvery lie to soothe her - to soothe _both_ of us. Once upon a time, I wouldn't have let her hug me.

You would smile at that, Quatre. But you probably can't. You probably can't flash those innocent yet _knowing_ grins that light up the room. You probably can't draw me to you. You probably can't laugh. You probably can't do _anything_ anymore.

You're probably dead.

I pray that it's otherwise.

The world needs you, Quatre Winner.

_I_ need you.

I never really told you that I loved you before this whirlwind of chaos sprang into beind, did I? We were always, always, always interrupted. You know as well as I do know that I would never say those three words to you if someone else was present. I think you believe that I would never say them.

But, you know, I've changed.

I'm not that same girl I was that night three years ago when we encountered one another at that party. I'm not the same girl who looked at your shoes, looked at your haircut, looked at the make of your suit and judged you before agreeing to dance. I'm not the same girl I was when I was fourteen and you were fifteen, and we fenced as if our lives depended on it. I'm not the indulged, over-educated child I was.

When I sleep tonight, I want to dream only of you.

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**Two: _You_**

Something warm and damp brushes my nose.

I jolt awake in time to see you grin. You are laying on your side beside me, the picture of innocence. There is a bandage around your forehead that mars your perfection, but you look as angelic as ever.

I gasp your name girlishly - and then I scowl. "You _licked _me! Put that away unless you plan to use it." I can't resist the opportunity to wink.

What, did you expect roses and violins?

You smile apologetically. "I didn't know how else to wake you up." You reach for me as if to draw me to your chest. "I'm sorry."

Instinctively, I jerk away. "You should be!" I exclaim, glaring. I sit up. My towel falls down, and I yank the blanket - _your _blankets, I realize, mortified; I fell asleep in your bed - up to cover my breasts. "Do you have any idea of how worried I was? How worried Relena was?"

Your hand moves to touch the bandage self-consciously. "There were…complications." You grin suddenly, full of warmth, as if these complications weren't enough to temper your mood. "Can I make it up to you?"

"How?" My tone turns it into a challenge.

You shrug. It's a boyish gesture, but it takes on an elegant quality when you do it. "Dinner? Right now?"

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still going to want details."

"You'll _get _details." You eye the quilt I'm clutching, and you smile. "You...ah, you might want to change first."

You're blushing.

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**Three: _We_**

It is snowing outside, we are not dressed for the elements, and we do not care. My coat is long enough to hide the short skirt of my silk sheath - it's purple; I've never been the Little Black Dress type. Your overcoat is unbuttoned, your pashmina scarf hanging around your shoulders, to reveal the suit you wear underneath. I reach out to seize your hand. (God in Heaven watch over me: I am rapidly becoming That Girl.) You place your other hand over top and squeeze gently. (I wonder whether we've become That Couple. A part of me hopes not, but another part of me does and hopes that all of our friends will be fiercely jealous. It will be either wonderful or terrifying. I'm afraid of this new, tentative happiness.)

I nudge your knee with my own. "I have something to tell you."

You are looking at the stars, but you turn to me the moment I speak. I marvel at the idea that I might hold as much fascination for you as they do. "Yes, Dorothy?"

Faced with your eyes on me, I lose my nerve. Damn. "I..." Why, yes, looking at the sidewalk does help to gain my resolve, thank you! Or maybe it's my designer shoes. Or maybe it's the knowledge that you won't judge me for what I am about to say. "Iloveyou."

"I'm sorry?"

"I love you," I repeat, emphasizing the words rather than blazing through them. "You idiot," I add, because I'm unable to keep from doing so.

You laugh aloud.

You pull me to you and ensnare my lips with your own. The kiss comes with a rush of excitement and passion better than any fantasy's. When you finally pull away, I am left breathless with wonder - and with my lips buzzing as if I had never before been kissed. Your hand lingers on the small of my back; with your other hand, you brush a wayward strand of hair from my eyes.

"And I you," you say - as if everything between us, everything that makes you and I _we_, is that simple.

And maybe we are.


End file.
